 | The remains of Robert Bloomfield (1824) |  |
xxvii
I. VOL. I.
How does the lustre of our father's virtues
(Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him)
Break out, and burn with more transcendent brightness!
CATO.
(Through the dark cloud of ills that cover him)
Break out, and burn with more transcendent brightness!
CATO.
xxix
TO HIS GRACE
THE DUKE OF GRAFTON.
xxxi
EPITAPH ON ROBERT BLOOMFIELD.
Ask not—why humble Giles with fame was bless'd?Why so much loved, respected, and caress'd?
Nor think that friendship's doubtful praise could show
The measure of his worth—here cold and low!
But search his living lines; for there you'll find
Such cloudless beamings of his spotless mind,
Such moral pictures, which his fancy drew,
As must inspire your love, and raise your virtues too!
J. WESTON.
7
POETICAL FRAGMENTS.
The dead,—are like the stars by day;
—Though hid from mortal eye,
They're not extinct,—but hold their way
In glory through the sky.
Montgomery.
—Though hid from mortal eye,
They're not extinct,—but hold their way
In glory through the sky.
Montgomery.
9
ELEGY.
[_]
[The following lines, written in 1789, on the death of my half-brother, Isaac Glover, who died at the age of sixteen, were almost lost to my friends, and entirely lost to my own memory;—but my sister having discovered them in an old pocket-book, has kindly transcribed them for me. I here write them verbatim, from her copy. Robert Bloomfield.]
Tell me, my troubled soul, why dost thou live,
'Midst perishable dust, in worse than nought?
What is the joy—if earth a joy can give—
To make thy longer tarrying worth a thought?
'Midst perishable dust, in worse than nought?
What is the joy—if earth a joy can give—
To make thy longer tarrying worth a thought?
Friendship thou lov'st; from God the cherub came
To link congenial souls, and bid them soar;—
Thy raptures spring from friendship's sacred flame,
Fair op'ning friendship,—and the hope of more.
To link congenial souls, and bid them soar;—
Thy raptures spring from friendship's sacred flame,
Fair op'ning friendship,—and the hope of more.
10
Though fled his kindred spirit from my sight,
His cheering converse vibrates on my ear;
Though here he speaks no more, the silent night
Recalls each word, and seals it with a tear!
His cheering converse vibrates on my ear;
Though here he speaks no more, the silent night
Recalls each word, and seals it with a tear!
This, his cold bed? Heart, pour thy anguish forth,
While the pale moon-beams witness to thy truth;
O tell, if language can, his early worth—
Tell what I lost—when droop'd the gen'rous youth.
While the pale moon-beams witness to thy truth;
O tell, if language can, his early worth—
Tell what I lost—when droop'd the gen'rous youth.
Affection cries—he virtue's paths had trod;
His mind wide opening, anxious to improve,
He wonder'd hourly at the works of God:
His soul was wisdom, and his heart was love.
His mind wide opening, anxious to improve,
He wonder'd hourly at the works of God:
His soul was wisdom, and his heart was love.
Meekness and truth in every word he said,
Pity's soft tears would tremble in his eyes;
All gentle virtues, bless'd him while he staid;
And waft him from us, to their native skies.
Pity's soft tears would tremble in his eyes;
All gentle virtues, bless'd him while he staid;
And waft him from us, to their native skies.
13
ON SEEING THE LAUNCH OF THE BOYNE.
Whence comes the joy, which longest warms the heart?
Can mutual love, can friendship's self impart
Raptures unmix'd—Thoughts constantly the same,
Like those which feed devotion's sacred flame,
When glows the breast with more than mortal fires,
And boundless gratitude to heaven aspires?
Can mutual love, can friendship's self impart
Raptures unmix'd—Thoughts constantly the same,
Like those which feed devotion's sacred flame,
When glows the breast with more than mortal fires,
And boundless gratitude to heaven aspires?
Through the wide field of arts, with true delight,
Unceasing wonders crowd upon our sight!
—Lo, yon vast pile , for noblest ends supplied,
Majestic greets the slowly rising tide!
—While, less in bulk,—but more amazing far,
View, in her infant stage, that ship of war.
Who from the hills, this boundless prospect sees,
Must silent praise,—or utter words like these:
Sweet child of heaven!—Thee, Gratitude, we bless,
Through life how lovely, in whatever dress;
Thou cheer'st the path, with care and peril trod,
And lift'st the soul, and point'st the way to God!
—Man sees with pleasure, and exulting rears
The shapely column, and the dome it bears;
And thus confined, we view with conscious heart
The perfect symmetry of every part:
But scaped the walls, we look to earth and sky,
And all the wonders half-reveal'd on high,
Where the charm'd soul contemplates her abode,
And matchless order speaks th' eternal God!
Unceasing wonders crowd upon our sight!
—Lo, yon vast pile , for noblest ends supplied,
Majestic greets the slowly rising tide!
—While, less in bulk,—but more amazing far,
View, in her infant stage, that ship of war.
14
Must silent praise,—or utter words like these:
Sweet child of heaven!—Thee, Gratitude, we bless,
Through life how lovely, in whatever dress;
Thou cheer'st the path, with care and peril trod,
And lift'st the soul, and point'st the way to God!
—Man sees with pleasure, and exulting rears
The shapely column, and the dome it bears;
And thus confined, we view with conscious heart
The perfect symmetry of every part:
But scaped the walls, we look to earth and sky,
And all the wonders half-reveal'd on high,
Where the charm'd soul contemplates her abode,
And matchless order speaks th' eternal God!
On that famed hill, where Flamstead's vigorous mind,
By midnight meditations, taught mankind;
When gleam'd the moon, and silence reign'd around,
The scene was awful, and the thought profound;
Heaven's beaming orbs, which gild the fearful night,
Ten thousand lesser stars that 'scape the sight,
To him were clear, were intimately known,
And all his pleasure was a God to own:
Yet one step more improves the glorious thought,
God made the man, and made the stars he sought.
By midnight meditations, taught mankind;
When gleam'd the moon, and silence reign'd around,
The scene was awful, and the thought profound;
Heaven's beaming orbs, which gild the fearful night,
Ten thousand lesser stars that 'scape the sight,
15
And all his pleasure was a God to own:
Yet one step more improves the glorious thought,
God made the man, and made the stars he sought.
Show the inquiring mind,—which seeks to know,
Objects where men their utmost skill bestow;
—Show him (where Thames her swelling bosom heaves)
The tow'ring vessel, destined to the waves.
See fix'd astonishment seize every power,
Like one short moment flies the favour'd hour;
And with what thrillings doth his heart attend
The vast design,—the purpose, and the end?
Objects where men their utmost skill bestow;
—Show him (where Thames her swelling bosom heaves)
The tow'ring vessel, destined to the waves.
See fix'd astonishment seize every power,
Like one short moment flies the favour'd hour;
And with what thrillings doth his heart attend
The vast design,—the purpose, and the end?
The forest mourns its largest, stateliest trees,
Here hewn and fashion'd with the greatest ease;
Enormous limbs of season'd, solid oak,
Yield their rough sides to labour's sturdy stroke.
Exact proportion, rules in height and length,
That great first principle,—resistless strength;
Strength well required, when o'er the foaming deeps,
Th' undaunted mariner, his reckoning keeps.
Behold her, through the opposing billows cleave,
And far behind the land of freedom leave;
Triumphantly she bears to distant shores
A thousand men, with all their pond'rous stores.
Amazing thought!—Yet more amazing still—
—This complicated mass of human skill,
When storms arise, is like a feather toss'd,
Her monstrous bulk comparatively lost.
Waves roll her over, terror fills the skies,
She rends asunder!—every creature dies!
O God! by winds thou canst destroy or save!
O Lord of life! Thy ocean is their grave!
Whate'er is great or awful, from Thee springs!
We, by imperfect, judge of perfect things.
—If works of art our admiration raise,
Thine be the worship—Thine the sacred praise.
Here hewn and fashion'd with the greatest ease;
Enormous limbs of season'd, solid oak,
Yield their rough sides to labour's sturdy stroke.
Exact proportion, rules in height and length,
That great first principle,—resistless strength;
Strength well required, when o'er the foaming deeps,
Th' undaunted mariner, his reckoning keeps.
16
And far behind the land of freedom leave;
Triumphantly she bears to distant shores
A thousand men, with all their pond'rous stores.
Amazing thought!—Yet more amazing still—
—This complicated mass of human skill,
When storms arise, is like a feather toss'd,
Her monstrous bulk comparatively lost.
Waves roll her over, terror fills the skies,
She rends asunder!—every creature dies!
O God! by winds thou canst destroy or save!
O Lord of life! Thy ocean is their grave!
Whate'er is great or awful, from Thee springs!
We, by imperfect, judge of perfect things.
—If works of art our admiration raise,
Thine be the worship—Thine the sacred praise.
17
TO HIS MOTHER,
WITH A COPY OF “THE FARMER'S BOY.”
“To peace and virtue still be true;”An anxious Mother ever cries,
Who needs no present to renew
Parental love—which never dies.
Yet, when to know, and see and hear
All that the great and good have done,
This present will be doubly dear
.....“Your favour'd poet is—my son.”
18
TO HIS WIFE.
I rise, dear Mary, from the soundest rest,A wandering, way-worn, musing, singing guest.
I claim the privilege of hill and plain;
Mine are the woods, and all that they contain;
The unpolluted gale, which sweeps the glade;
All the cool blessings of the solemn shade;
Health, and the flow of happiness sincere;
Yet there's one wish,—I wish that thou wert here;
Free from the trammels of domestic care,
With me these dear autumnal sweets to share;
To share my heart's ungovernable joy;
And keep the birth-day of our poor lame boy.
Ah! that's a tender string! Yet since I find
That scenes like these, can soothe the harass'd mind,
Trust me, 'twould set thy jaded spirits free,
To wander thus through vales and woods with me.
Thou know'st how much I love to steal away
From noise, from uproar, and the blaze of day;
With double transport would my heart rebound
To lead thee, where the clustering nuts are found;
19
For the brown treasure stoops to meet the hand.
Round the tall hazel, beds of moss appear
In green-swards nibbled by the forest deer,
Sun, and alternate shade; while o'er our heads
The cawing rook his glossy pinions spreads;
The noisy jay, his wild-woods dashing through;
The ring-dove's chorus, and the rustling bough;
The far resounding gate; the kite's shrill scream;
The distant ploughman's halloo to his team.
This is the chorus to my soul so dear;
It would delight thee too, wert thou but here:
For we might talk of home, and muse o'er days
Of sad distress, and Heaven's mysterious ways;
Our chequer'd fortunes, with a smile retrace,
And build new hopes upon our infant race;
Pour our thanksgivings forth, and weep the while;
Or pray for blessings on our native isle.
But vain the wish!—Mary, thy sighs forbear,
Nor grudge the pleasure which thou canst not share;
Make home delightful, kindly wish for me,
And I'll leave hills, and dales, and woods for thee.
Robert Bloomfield.
Whittlebury Forest,
Sept. 16, 1804.
21
TO A SPINDLE.
Relic! I will not bow to thee, nor worship!
Yet, treasure as thou art, remembrancer
Of sunny days, that ever haunt my dreams,
Where thy brown fellows as a task I twirl'd,
And sang my ditties, ere the farm received
My vagrant foot, and with its liberty,
And all its cheerful buds, and op'ning flowers,
Had taught my heart to wander:
—Relic of affection! come;—
Thou shalt a moral teach to me and mine;
The hand that wore thee smooth is cold, and spins
No more! Debility press'd hard, around
The seat of life, and terrors fill'd her brain,—
Nor causeless terrors. Giants grim and bold,
Three mighty ones she fear'd to meet:—they came—
Winter, Old Age, and Poverty,—all came;
The last had dropp'd his club, yet fancy made
Him formidable; and when Death beheld
Her tribulation, he fulfill'd his task,
And to her trembling hand and heart at once,
Cried, “Spin no more.”—Thou then wert left half fill'd
With this soft downy fleece, such as she wound
Through all her days, she who could spin so well.
Half fill'd, wert thou—half finish'd when she died!
—Half finish'd? 'Tis the motto of the world:
We spin vain threads, and strive, and die
With sillier things than spindles on our hands!
Yet, treasure as thou art, remembrancer
Of sunny days, that ever haunt my dreams,
Where thy brown fellows as a task I twirl'd,
And sang my ditties, ere the farm received
My vagrant foot, and with its liberty,
And all its cheerful buds, and op'ning flowers,
Had taught my heart to wander:
22
Thou shalt a moral teach to me and mine;
The hand that wore thee smooth is cold, and spins
No more! Debility press'd hard, around
The seat of life, and terrors fill'd her brain,—
Nor causeless terrors. Giants grim and bold,
Three mighty ones she fear'd to meet:—they came—
Winter, Old Age, and Poverty,—all came;
The last had dropp'd his club, yet fancy made
Him formidable; and when Death beheld
Her tribulation, he fulfill'd his task,
And to her trembling hand and heart at once,
Cried, “Spin no more.”—Thou then wert left half fill'd
With this soft downy fleece, such as she wound
Through all her days, she who could spin so well.
Half fill'd, wert thou—half finish'd when she died!
—Half finish'd? 'Tis the motto of the world:
We spin vain threads, and strive, and die
With sillier things than spindles on our hands!
Then feeling, as I do, resistlessly,
The bias set upon my soul for verse;
Oh, should old age still find my brain at work,
And Death, o'er some poor fragment striding, cry
“Hold! spin no more!” grant, Heaven, that purity
Of thought and texture, may assimilate
That fragment unto thee, in usefulness,
In worth, and snowy innocence. Then shall
The village school-mistress, shine brighter through
The exit of her boy; and both shall live,
And virtue triumph too; and virtue's tears,
Like Heaven's pure blessings, fall upon their grave.
The bias set upon my soul for verse;
23
And Death, o'er some poor fragment striding, cry
“Hold! spin no more!” grant, Heaven, that purity
Of thought and texture, may assimilate
That fragment unto thee, in usefulness,
In worth, and snowy innocence. Then shall
The village school-mistress, shine brighter through
The exit of her boy; and both shall live,
And virtue triumph too; and virtue's tears,
Like Heaven's pure blessings, fall upon their grave.
24
KENTISH MARY.
A BALLAD.
Ye who urge harsh rules of duty,
Deeming love a childish thing;
Rebels to the reign of beauty!
Listen to the song I sing.
Deeming love a childish thing;
Rebels to the reign of beauty!
Listen to the song I sing.
Happy day! and means how glorious!
(Weeping 'midst her auburn hair)
Kentish Mary rose victorious,
Rose with honour from despair.
(Weeping 'midst her auburn hair)
Kentish Mary rose victorious,
Rose with honour from despair.
Her William loved, their hearts were pairs,
And well his diamond-worth she knew;
—And what can purchase joy like theirs?
—Not all the gems that ever grew.
And well his diamond-worth she knew;
—And what can purchase joy like theirs?
—Not all the gems that ever grew.
Yet was the union of their hands,
From motives which must still be hid,
By her fond father's stern commands
At once delay'd, opposed, forbid!
From motives which must still be hid,
By her fond father's stern commands
At once delay'd, opposed, forbid!
25
—“Strive, children, to forget your loves,
“Let passion cool, and reason reign.”
—They strove; but time for ever proves
That nature will her rights maintain.
“Let passion cool, and reason reign.”
—They strove; but time for ever proves
That nature will her rights maintain.
She sought (as gloomy sorrow bade),
Far in the Weald, a lonely spot,
Beneath the oak's primeval shade,
To rest till grief should be forgot.
Far in the Weald, a lonely spot,
Beneath the oak's primeval shade,
To rest till grief should be forgot.
Vain thought! The soul's calamity
The suff'ring frame must ever share!
Sickness bedimm'd her hazel eye;
—In truth, 'twas more than she could bear.
The suff'ring frame must ever share!
Sickness bedimm'd her hazel eye;
—In truth, 'twas more than she could bear.
Who now shall visit Mary? Who
Bring comfort to her lone abode?
William at once resolved to go,
And passion spurr'd him on the road.
Bring comfort to her lone abode?
William at once resolved to go,
And passion spurr'd him on the road.
—Their late resolves, with health gave way,
And Pity lent her powerful aid;
And every moment seem'd a day,
Till he could clasp his drooping maid.
And Pity lent her powerful aid;
And every moment seem'd a day,
Till he could clasp his drooping maid.
26
O! sweet was then the stolen pleasure!
Conscious honour, love, and fears!
His—fond vows beyond all measure,
Hers—the luxury of tears!
Conscious honour, love, and fears!
His—fond vows beyond all measure,
Hers—the luxury of tears!
27
THE DAWNING OF DAY.
A HUNTING SONG.
The grey eye of morning, was dear to my youth,
When I sprang like the roe from my bed,
With the glow of the passions, the feelings of truth,
And the light hand of Time on my head.
When I sprang like the roe from my bed,
With the glow of the passions, the feelings of truth,
And the light hand of Time on my head.
For then 'twas my maxim through life to be free,
And to sport my short moments away;
The cry of the hounds, was the music for me,
My glory—the dawn of the day.
And to sport my short moments away;
The cry of the hounds, was the music for me,
My glory—the dawn of the day.
In yellow-leaved autumn, the haze of the morn
Gave promise of rapture to come;
Then melody woke in the sound of the horn,
As we cheer'd the old fox from his home;
Gave promise of rapture to come;
Then melody woke in the sound of the horn,
As we cheer'd the old fox from his home;
The breeze and the shout met the sun's early beam,
With the village response in full play;
All vigour, my steed leap'd the fence or the stream,
And was foremost at dawn of the day.
With the village response in full play;
28
And was foremost at dawn of the day.
The well-tuned view-halloo that shook the green wood,
And arrested the ploughman's gay song,
Gave nerve to the hunters, and fire to the blood
Of the hounds, as they bounded along.
And arrested the ploughman's gay song,
Gave nerve to the hunters, and fire to the blood
Of the hounds, as they bounded along.
And shall I relinquish this joy of my heart
While years with my strength roll away?
Hark! the horn—bring my horse—see, they're ready to start!
Tally-o! at the dawning of day.
While years with my strength roll away?
Hark! the horn—bring my horse—see, they're ready to start!
Tally-o! at the dawning of day.
29
ON REPAIRING A MINIATURE BUST OF BUONAPARTE.
FOR MRS. PALMER.
madam,
E'en Lodi's stream, Marengo's plain,
Amidst their heaps of dead,
Still left the illustrious Corsican
His laurels and his head.
Amidst their heaps of dead,
Still left the illustrious Corsican
His laurels and his head.
What have you done? Was it to show,
Still dire events portending,
That man may look as pure as snow,
Yet stand in need of mending?
Still dire events portending,
That man may look as pure as snow,
Yet stand in need of mending?
Though mending is in part my trade,
Where step by step I'm led on,
I ne'er the bold attempt yet made,
To set a great man's head on.
Where step by step I'm led on,
I ne'er the bold attempt yet made,
To set a great man's head on.
But satirists, may well suspect
That some great heads have long
Been our sole care, and (from neglect)
That we have set them wrong.
That some great heads have long
Been our sole care, and (from neglect)
That we have set them wrong.
30
But jokes apart, 'tis plain to all,
Who see this broken bust,
The head of the original—
Was rightly placed at first.
Who see this broken bust,
The head of the original—
Was rightly placed at first.
THE MAID OF DUNSTABLE.
Where o'er the hills, and white as snow,
The channel'd road resounding lies,
And curling from the vale below,
The morning-mists in columns rise;
Blithe at their doors, where glanced the sun,
The busy maidens plied their trade;
And Dunstable may boast of one,
As fair as ever fancy made.
The channel'd road resounding lies,
And curling from the vale below,
The morning-mists in columns rise;
Blithe at their doors, where glanced the sun,
The busy maidens plied their trade;
And Dunstable may boast of one,
As fair as ever fancy made.
A transient glance on her sweet face,
Would bid the chastest bosom glow;
But modesty's resistless grace,
'Tis hers to feel, and hers to show.—
Pure be the cup which thou mayst sip;
May no false swain thy peace annoy;
May prudence guard thy cherry lip,
And virtue lead thy steps to joy.
Would bid the chastest bosom glow;
But modesty's resistless grace,
'Tis hers to feel, and hers to show.—
Pure be the cup which thou mayst sip;
May no false swain thy peace annoy;
May prudence guard thy cherry lip,
And virtue lead thy steps to joy.
31
SONNET.
TO FIFTEEN GNATS SEEN DANCING IN THE SUN-BEAMS ON JAN. 3.
Welcome, ye little fools, to cheer us now,With recollections of a summer's eve;
And, though my heart, can not the cheat believe,
Still merrily dance about your leafless bough.
—I love you from my soul; and though I know
Ye can but die—to think how soon, I grieve;—
Perhaps to-night the blast of death may blow;
Frost be at hand—who grants you no reprieve.
—Your company's too small, I ween, that you
Thus raise the shrill note of your summer's song;
Yet dance away—'tis thus that children do,—
And wiser men to life's end dance along.
Die, little gnats, as winds or frosts ordain:—
Death is our frost too—but we fly again.
32
GOOD NATURE.
Much of good nature, grey-beards tell,And make a great to-do:
I've weigh'd their bold assertions well,
And now believe them true.
Let beauty's bloom improve or fade,
Wit bring its good or harm,
'Twas gay good-nature Hymen made
His universal charm.
33
HOB'S EPITAPH.
A grey-owl was I when on earth;
My master, a wondrous wise-man,
Found out my deserts and my worth,
And would needs have me bred an exciseman.
My master, a wondrous wise-man,
Found out my deserts and my worth,
And would needs have me bred an exciseman.
He gave me the range of his house,
And a favourite study, his shed,
Where I rush'd on the struggling mouse,
While science rush'd into my head.
And a favourite study, his shed,
Where I rush'd on the struggling mouse,
While science rush'd into my head.
In gauging, I still made advances;
Like schoolboy, grew wiser and wiser;
Resolved in the world to take chances,
And try to come in supervisor.
Like schoolboy, grew wiser and wiser;
Resolved in the world to take chances,
And try to come in supervisor.
But Fate comes, and Genius must fail:—
One morning, while gauging or drinking,
My wig over-balanced my tail,
And I found myself stifling and sinking.
One morning, while gauging or drinking,
My wig over-balanced my tail,
And I found myself stifling and sinking.
34
Yet I died not like men—who still quarrel
Through life—yet to destiny yield:—
The tippler is drown'd in his barrel;
The soldier is slain in the field.—
Through life—yet to destiny yield:—
The tippler is drown'd in his barrel;
The soldier is slain in the field.—
Not in love—nor in debt—nor in strife—
Nor in horrors attendant on war:—
In a barrel I gave up my life,
But mine was—a barrel of tar.
Nor in horrors attendant on war:—
In a barrel I gave up my life,
But mine was—a barrel of tar.
35
THE SOLDIER'S RETURN.
Beat up, my fond heart, the worn veteran cries;
His dear native village just op'ning to view;
Here parents—here Anna—here love's tender ties,
Will soothe ev'ry care, ev'ry kindness renew.
His dear native village just op'ning to view;
Here parents—here Anna—here love's tender ties,
Will soothe ev'ry care, ev'ry kindness renew.
Hail, woodlands, though leafless!—Hail, streams so long lost!
My friendships, my cottage, my home full in sight!
Thou mansion of bliss, screen my scars from the frost!
I've gold now—and love will give zest to delight.
My friendships, my cottage, my home full in sight!
Thou mansion of bliss, screen my scars from the frost!
I've gold now—and love will give zest to delight.
O'er kingdoms to thee, rapid Fancy oft flew;
Thy low mossy roof in fond mem'ry survived;
Oft homeward at eve, when I took a long view,
I've sigh'd with a tear, for the day now arrived!
Thy low mossy roof in fond mem'ry survived;
Oft homeward at eve, when I took a long view,
I've sigh'd with a tear, for the day now arrived!
Round Libia's south point, when from toils lately freed,
Sweet Hope cheer'd my soul whilst we skimm'd the rough sea.
I strove, 'midst the tars, to improve our ship's speed;
Nor thought I of toils—but of Anna and thee.
Sweet Hope cheer'd my soul whilst we skimm'd the rough sea.
I strove, 'midst the tars, to improve our ship's speed;
Nor thought I of toils—but of Anna and thee.
36
Here comes the dear girl—comes with kind arms extended
To welcome me home, and my fondness to prove:
My cheekfeels the glowing of rapture, warm blended
With answering drops—'tis the meed of chaste love.
To welcome me home, and my fondness to prove:
My cheekfeels the glowing of rapture, warm blended
With answering drops—'tis the meed of chaste love.
HAPPINESS OF GLEANERS.
—Welcome the cot'sWarm walls! .... thrice welcome Rest, by toil endear'd;
Each hard-bed softening, healing ev'ry care!
—Sleep on, ye gentle souls,
Unapprehensive of the midnight thief!
—Or, if bereft of all, with pain acquired!
Your fall, with theirs compared, who sink from wealth,
With hands unused to toil, and minds unused
To bend—how little felt!—How soon repair'd!
37
CHARITY.
In moorland cot—or hovel by the road,Rest the poor Peasant and his shiv'ring boy,
—And theirs we deem Contentment's blest abode,
Where Fancy riots in ideal joy!—
Shall this bar charity—when spare and thin
The curling smoke o'ertops the winter snow?
Go—cheer decrepitude, that shrinks within,
And bid the eye of palsied age o'erflow.
38
[Visitor! whoe'er thou art]
[_]
Lines written hastily, while in King-street, Margate, in August 1822, and given to Mr. Freeman of Minster.
Visitor! whoe'er thou art,
Respect the vine, which climbs this door;
If pain or sorrow wring thy heart,
Seek health along the breezy shore.
Respect the vine, which climbs this door;
If pain or sorrow wring thy heart,
Seek health along the breezy shore.
Watch the last sun-beams o'er the sea;
And when the eve is calm and clear,
From breathless rooms and raffles flee,—
Music awaits thee on the pier.
And when the eve is calm and clear,
From breathless rooms and raffles flee,—
Music awaits thee on the pier.
The world is gay—the world is vain—
It palls upon the ear and eye;
It brings no treasures in its train:—
Seek health, for there your treasures lie.
It palls upon the ear and eye;
It brings no treasures in its train:—
Seek health, for there your treasures lie.
39
THE FLOWERS OF THE MEAD.
How much to be wish'd that the flowers of the mead
The pleasures of converse could yield;
And be to our bosoms, wherever we tread,
The reasoning sweets of the field!
The pleasures of converse could yield;
And be to our bosoms, wherever we tread,
The reasoning sweets of the field!
But silent they stand,—yet in silence bestow,
What smiles, and what glances impart;
And give, every moment, Joy's exquisite glow,
And the powerful throb of the heart.
What smiles, and what glances impart;
And give, every moment, Joy's exquisite glow,
And the powerful throb of the heart.
40
FRAGMENT.
'Twas when the abbey rear'd its spires,
Where good St. Edmund buried lies,
A cloister'd maid, with holy fires,
Subdued Love's rebel tears and sighs.
Where good St. Edmund buried lies,
A cloister'd maid, with holy fires,
Subdued Love's rebel tears and sighs.
At times subdued, at times she wept,
When came the solemn ev'ning hours;
And often, when she should have slept,
A whisper climb'd the silent towers,
O let poor Anna die!
When came the solemn ev'ning hours;
And often, when she should have slept,
A whisper climb'd the silent towers,
O let poor Anna die!
[Wine, beauty, smiles, and social mirth]
Wine, beauty, smiles, and social mirth,Right welcome to the table;
These!—every mother's son of earth
Will honour!—while he's able.
41
EPITAPH FOR A YOUNG LADY.
Youth, cheerfulness, and health, gave up their reign,To all the bitterness of mortal pain.
Unshaken fortitude possess'd her mind,
And sense grew bright as beauty's rose declined.
In vain kind sisters wept, and hid their fears;
Vain the fond parents' venerable tears!
God to himself, th' unspotted victim drew:
She waits in heaven, ye good and just, for you!
42
EMMA'S KID.
[_]
[Originally accompanying a pair of kid-leather shoes, which the Earl of Buchan had requested me to make with my own hands for his lady, then at Dryburgh abbey.]
Full was the moon, and climbing high,
Beam'd soft on Emma's flowing hair,
And rival stars along the sky
Were sparkling through the frosty air.
Beam'd soft on Emma's flowing hair,
And rival stars along the sky
Were sparkling through the frosty air.
The powder'd blades on every sod,
Like glittering arms before us lay;
And crumpling snow where'er we trod,
Reflected back the friendly ray.
Like glittering arms before us lay;
And crumpling snow where'er we trod,
Reflected back the friendly ray.
Her breath, that met the piercing cold,
Quick vanish'd, and a tear was seen,
While thus her story Emma told
Of summer-days, how bless'd they'd been.
Quick vanish'd, and a tear was seen,
While thus her story Emma told
Of summer-days, how bless'd they'd been.
43
My father is too poor, to own
The mountain flock, or wandering kine;
One kid has all our fondness known,—
I call'd the blithsome creature mine.
The mountain flock, or wandering kine;
One kid has all our fondness known,—
I call'd the blithsome creature mine.
Of kids that ever climb the steep,
With all the frisks of wanton glee,
Of all that graze the dell so deep,
The merriest of the race was he.
With all the frisks of wanton glee,
Of all that graze the dell so deep,
The merriest of the race was he.
Without him if I stole away,
And gain'd the mountain's airy brow,
He'd join me there, and seem'd to say,—
Look down upon our home below.
And gain'd the mountain's airy brow,
He'd join me there, and seem'd to say,—
Look down upon our home below.
Light on the cliff he'd bound along,
Now climb aloft and now descend;
And while I sung my morning song,
Would circle round and round his friend.
Now climb aloft and now descend;
And while I sung my morning song,
Would circle round and round his friend.
When wild-rose buds began to peep,
And June, amidst her choice of flowers,
Bade dripping clouds their distance keep,
And welcomed forth the sunny hours—
And June, amidst her choice of flowers,
Bade dripping clouds their distance keep,
And welcomed forth the sunny hours—
44
When fresh the earth, and clear the sky,
And blackbirds caroll'd through the grove;
Both morn and eve my kid was nigh,
And I return'd him love for love.
And blackbirds caroll'd through the grove;
Both morn and eve my kid was nigh,
And I return'd him love for love.
And Allen, was he here e'en now,
He'd print the snow in scowering by,
And with such strength, that even you
Would wonder how he leap'd so high.
He'd print the snow in scowering by,
And with such strength, that even you
Would wonder how he leap'd so high.
My father's loss had grieved me more;
Then, poor indeed, would Emma be.
But next to him—a bosom'd store
Was that poor innocent to me.
Then, poor indeed, would Emma be.
But next to him—a bosom'd store
Was that poor innocent to me.
And nothing but a father's weal,
Should e'er have torn him from my side:
His life supply'd a sick man's meal,
Who else most surely, must have died.
Should e'er have torn him from my side:
His life supply'd a sick man's meal,
Who else most surely, must have died.
Forgive my tears—'twas sure a sin,
A crying sin, at Donald's door,—
A travelling pedler had his skin,
And I shall never see him more!
A crying sin, at Donald's door,—
A travelling pedler had his skin,
And I shall never see him more!
45
Her eye uplifted, mild and blue,
Convey'd a more than usual bliss;
While to my lips her cheek I drew,
And lurking echo, mock'd the kiss!
Convey'd a more than usual bliss;
While to my lips her cheek I drew,
And lurking echo, mock'd the kiss!
Oh soothe, sweet girl, thy troubled mind,
Though dear a short-lived kid might prove;
To me, be you as true and kind,
You'll find a life of lasting love.
Though dear a short-lived kid might prove;
To me, be you as true and kind,
You'll find a life of lasting love.
I've kids at home; then come with me,
We're natives both of this sweet vale;
And bring thy tenderness with thee,
But tell no more this piteous tale.—
We're natives both of this sweet vale;
And bring thy tenderness with thee,
But tell no more this piteous tale.—
Thou, and thy kid, no more can meet:
Yet his soft skin, that knew no stain,
On some fair lady's gliding feet
May visit these wild hills again.
Yet his soft skin, that knew no stain,
On some fair lady's gliding feet
May visit these wild hills again.
Then let the thought thy bosom cheer;
From trifles oft our comforts flow;
And love can spread his blessings here,
As spring dissolves the mountain snow.
From trifles oft our comforts flow;
And love can spread his blessings here,
As spring dissolves the mountain snow.
46
And will you then no more be sad?
And will you share my kids with me?
Shallspring, which makes Tweed's side so glad,
Shall spring have coming joys for thee?
And will you share my kids with me?
Shallspring, which makes Tweed's side so glad,
Shall spring have coming joys for thee?
Where are the flowers of bonny May?
We know the sun will bring them forth—
And can I trust thy pity? say,
For pity speaks the soul of worth.
We know the sun will bring them forth—
And can I trust thy pity? say,
For pity speaks the soul of worth.
“Yes, trust me, Allen; by this light—
“I'll hide my heart from thee no more.”—
I won my Emma's love that night,—
Oh, love! respect our humble door.
“I'll hide my heart from thee no more.”—
I won my Emma's love that night,—
Oh, love! respect our humble door.
While flowers burst forth, while leaves decay,
While crystal treasures, Tweed, rolls by,
Be thou the guardian of our way,
And bless our cottage till we die.
While crystal treasures, Tweed, rolls by,
Be thou the guardian of our way,
And bless our cottage till we die.
47
TO GENERAL LOYD.
THE HUMBLE PETITION OF THE OLD ELMS AT THE WEST END OF WOOLWICH BARRACKS.
We soldiers of the western hill,
Turn'd up with nature's cheerful green;
Since our young stems came here to drill,
What revolutions have we seen!
Turn'd up with nature's cheerful green;
Since our young stems came here to drill,
What revolutions have we seen!
We've witness'd many a gallant launch;
We've bow'd to many a gay review;
And still, we're like your Honour—stanch;
And humbly plead our cause with you.
We've bow'd to many a gay review;
And still, we're like your Honour—stanch;
And humbly plead our cause with you.
Oh! shall we be condemn'd to die,
Whilst your vast barracks raise our wonder;
Whose deep foundations come so nigh,
They cut our very roots asunder?
Whilst your vast barracks raise our wonder;
Whose deep foundations come so nigh,
They cut our very roots asunder?
We've stood through many a stormy night,
Ay! long before your men were born,
Who braved the thunder of the fight,
And toils and terrors laugh'd to scorn.
Ay! long before your men were born,
Who braved the thunder of the fight,
And toils and terrors laugh'd to scorn.
48
How grateful is the summer shade,
How bleak this hill would look without us;
Here let the vows of love be made,
And blooming maids still flock about us.
How bleak this hill would look without us;
Here let the vows of love be made,
And blooming maids still flock about us.
Let us remain the spot to show,
(Though honour bids a nation arm),
Where grazing kine were wont to low,
And once was found a peaceful farm.
(Though honour bids a nation arm),
Where grazing kine were wont to low,
And once was found a peaceful farm.
49
SONG,
SUNG BY MR. BLOOMFIELD
Come hither, mild Beauty, that dwell'st on the mountain,
Sweet handmaid of Liberty, meet us to-day;
Thy votaries philanthropy ask from thy fountain,
A soul-cheering nectar wherewith to be gay.
Sweet handmaid of Liberty, meet us to-day;
Thy votaries philanthropy ask from thy fountain,
A soul-cheering nectar wherewith to be gay.
The cup may o'erflow, and new grapes still be growing;
The eyes of the drinkers resplendently shine;
But grant us, bright nymph, with thy gifts over-flowing,
To lighten our hearts, and to relish our wine.
The eyes of the drinkers resplendently shine;
But grant us, bright nymph, with thy gifts over-flowing,
To lighten our hearts, and to relish our wine.
Is Beauty's gay rosebud a prize worth ensuring?
Its guardianship rests with the friends of our cause.
Shall we mark unconcern'd, what the blind are enduring?
No! mercy and peace are the first of our laws.
Its guardianship rests with the friends of our cause.
Shall we mark unconcern'd, what the blind are enduring?
No! mercy and peace are the first of our laws.
50
Wave, streamers of victory; be bravery requited;
Be sails, in all climes, still with honour unfurl'd;
All lovers of man with our cause are delighted;
'Tis to banish the fears, and the tears of the world.
Be sails, in all climes, still with honour unfurl'd;
All lovers of man with our cause are delighted;
'Tis to banish the fears, and the tears of the world.
All nations shall feel, and all nations inherit
The wonderful blessing we place in their view;
And if in that blessing a mortal claims merit,
Oh! Jenner—your country resigns it to you!
The wonderful blessing we place in their view;
And if in that blessing a mortal claims merit,
Oh! Jenner—your country resigns it to you!
From the field, from the farm, comes the glorious treasure,
May its life-saving impulse—all fresh as the morn—
Still spread round the earth without bounds, without measure,
Till Time has forgot, when his Jenner was born.
May its life-saving impulse—all fresh as the morn—
Still spread round the earth without bounds, without measure,
Till Time has forgot, when his Jenner was born.
51
WORDS FOR HOOK'S FOURTH LESSON.
LOVELY SHELAH.
Come, lovely Shelah—come, lovely Shelah,Let us ramble o'er the dewy mountains, Shelah.
Let blossoms please thee,
No cares shall tease thee,
Let us taste the breezy morn.
There my songs I'll sing thee,
There the flowers I'll bring thee,
Larks shall carol cheerly,
There my songs I'll sing thee,
There the flowers I'll bring thee,
Down amongst the waving corn.
52
FOR HOOK'S NINTH LESSON.
DONALD.
Down in the forest,
Where the hazel boughs are spreading,
Where the sun-beams gleaming play
Beneath our favourite tree.
Bring from thy cottage
Scrip and flask; and lightly treading,
Deck with flowers the mossy seat;
I'll share the feast with thee.
So said my Donald—
But where's my loitering lover?
Smiles wait him, flowers bloom
By woodland rill so clear.
Donald, be faithful,
My bold, my bonny forest rover;
What's the stream, and what the flowers,
If Donald is not here?
Where the hazel boughs are spreading,
Where the sun-beams gleaming play
Beneath our favourite tree.
Bring from thy cottage
Scrip and flask; and lightly treading,
Deck with flowers the mossy seat;
I'll share the feast with thee.
So said my Donald—
But where's my loitering lover?
Smiles wait him, flowers bloom
By woodland rill so clear.
Donald, be faithful,
My bold, my bonny forest rover;
What's the stream, and what the flowers,
If Donald is not here?
Peep from thy covert,
Noble antler'd stag, nor fear me.
List'ning hare, enjoy thy food,
I spread no snare for thee.
Sing, lovely Philomel,
'Midst the shady branches near me,
Till my wand'ring lover comes,
Oh, tune thy lay to me.
Hark! from the deep dell
The mingled voices swelling;
Hark! what sweet echoes
Are through the forest borne.
Welcome, thou brave youth;
Welcome, sounds of rapture telling.
Charming echoes,
Here he comes!
'Twas Donald's bugle-horn.
Noble antler'd stag, nor fear me.
53
I spread no snare for thee.
Sing, lovely Philomel,
'Midst the shady branches near me,
Till my wand'ring lover comes,
Oh, tune thy lay to me.
Hark! from the deep dell
The mingled voices swelling;
Hark! what sweet echoes
Are through the forest borne.
Welcome, thou brave youth;
Welcome, sounds of rapture telling.
Charming echoes,
Here he comes!
'Twas Donald's bugle-horn.
54
FOR HOOK'S ELEVENTH LESSON.
THE IRISH DUCK-WOMAN.
This is the market for ducks to-day,And prettier birds never swam in the water;
But what's to become of my gains, I pray,
If I'm to be cheated by you?
Show them your English lasses, and tell them
They ne'er had a conscience so cheaply to sell 'em now.
Match 'em for fat, and for weight, and for feather,
And match 'em the market all through.
Who'd be cheated by you? who'd be cheated by you?
Match 'em for fat, and for weight, and for feather,
And match 'em the market all through.
Who'd be cheated by you? who'd be cheated by you?
Match 'em for fat, and for weight, and for feather,
And match 'em the market all through.
55
Who don't know a bit about what I'd be a'ter,
To sell my fat ducks for a shilling a-piece,
When I gave a dollar for two!
I who have sold 'em at Cork and Kilkenny,
And even at Dublin itself turn'd a penny, sure;
I who have sold'em to lords and to ladies,
And travell'd the country through!
Who'd be cheated by you? who'd be cheated by you?
I who have sold 'em, &c.
And travell'd, &c.
Who'd be cheated, &c.
I who have, &c.
And travell'd, &c.
56
FOR HOOK'S FOURTEENTH LESSON.
THE SOLDIER'S LULLABY.
To sleep, my dear—to sleep, my dear;The march is o'er—the fight is done.
To sleep, my dear, you need not fear,
You're safe,—the field is won.
Rest your troubled bosom,
And rest your weary head;
Comrades watch around thee,
Thy husband guards thy bed.
No piercing trumpet shall tell of death and terrors,
No thundering cannon shall fill thee with dismay.
Broad the vanguard shows its front;
Our brave commander knows his ground;
And distant rolls the doubling drum;
The conquer'd foe is far away.
57
GLEE.
FROM THE VILLAGE DRAMA CALLED “HAZELWOOD HALL.”
1
Love in a shower safe shelter took,In a rosy bower, beside a brook,
And wink'd and nodded, with conscious pride,
To his vot'ries drench'd on the other side.
Come hither, sweet maids, there's a bridge below;
The toll-keeper Hymen will let you through;
Come over the stream to me.
2
Then over they went, in a huddle together,Not caring much about wind or weather;
The bower was sweet, and the shower was gone,
Again broke forth th' enlivening sun.
Some wish'd to return, but the toll-keeper said,
You're a wife now, lassie, I pass'd you a maid.
Get back as you can for me.
58
SIMPLE PLEASURES.
FROM THE SAME.
1
Thus thinks the traveller, journeying stillWhere mountains rise sublime:
What, but these scenes, the heart can fill?
What charm like yonder giant hill?
—A mole-hill clothed with thyme!
2
What can exceed the joy of power?—That joy which conquerors prove
In scepter'd rule, where all must cower?
What can exceed that madd'ning hour?
Why peace, and home, and love!
59
SONG.
TUNE.—LIGORAN COSH.
1
The man in the moon look'd down one night,Where a lad and his lass were walking;
Thinks he, there must be very huge delight
In this kissing and nonsense-talking:
And so there must ('tis a well known case),
For it lasts both late and early.
So they talk'd him down, till he cover'd his face,
—They tired his patience fairly.
2
Then up rose the sun in his morning beams,And push'd back his nightcap to greet them;
Says he,—“As you boast of your darts and flames,
My darts and my flames shall meet them.”
He scorch'd them both through the live-longday,
But they never once seem'd to mind him,
But laugh'd outright, as he skulk'd away,
And left a dark world behind him.
60
3
Then the man in the moon look'd down in a pet,And said, “I believe I can cure you;
Though my brother has fail'd, I may conquer yet—
If not, I must try to endure you.
Go home,” he cried, “and attend to my rules,
And banish all thoughts of sorrow;
Then jump into bed, you couple of fools,
And you'll both be wiser to-morrow.”
61
SENT TO MR. SHARP, AS AN APOLOGY FOR NOT DINING WITH HIM.
I cannot with pleasure leave home,
Though wit, wine, and friendship invite,
For that grim-visaged fiend is just come,
Who withers my germs of delight.
With the insult of conquest he rides,
And demands from its peg my warm coat,
Deep-probing back, shoulders, and sides,
With a spur—like the name to your note.
Though wit, wine, and friendship invite,
For that grim-visaged fiend is just come,
Who withers my germs of delight.
With the insult of conquest he rides,
And demands from its peg my warm coat,
Deep-probing back, shoulders, and sides,
With a spur—like the name to your note.
The blithe Caledonian for once,
Whose humour will keep you from sinking,
Will miss by good fortune the dunce,
Who spends his dull moments in thinking.
Should Doeg transgress, show the door,
And let this fine rain cool his flame;
Or to have him like me, make him poor,
And strike out the e from his name.
Whose humour will keep you from sinking,
Will miss by good fortune the dunce,
Who spends his dull moments in thinking.
Should Doeg transgress, show the door,
And let this fine rain cool his flame;
Or to have him like me, make him poor,
And strike out the e from his name.
62
ÆOLUS.
[_]
I am not disposed to court the powers of this poet-made god—except on a sultry summer's day, when not a breath of air is in motion; at such a moment one might exclaim:—
Oh, breeze, where sleep'st thou? Come, oh come,
This languor of my frame dispel;
Arise,—thy own loved harp is dumb;
Arise, and bid thy chorus swell.
This languor of my frame dispel;
Arise,—thy own loved harp is dumb;
Arise, and bid thy chorus swell.
Stop not, but breathe with fresh'ning power
O'er full-blown roses in your way;
Wave the laburnum's pendent flower;—
Yet stop not 'midst their sweets to play.
O'er full-blown roses in your way;
Wave the laburnum's pendent flower;—
Yet stop not 'midst their sweets to play.
Sweep o'er the hay-field and the grove;
Thy own harp waits thee, come along;
Whose soft vibrations whisper love,
And fancied choirs of heavenly song.
Thy own harp waits thee, come along;
Whose soft vibrations whisper love,
And fancied choirs of heavenly song.
63
Thanks, charming zephyr.—Hark! That tone!
Be true, sweet harp; hush all but thee;
Perform thy task untouch'd, alone,
And pour thy tide of harmony.
Be true, sweet harp; hush all but thee;
Perform thy task untouch'd, alone,
And pour thy tide of harmony.
64
IRISH NEWS.
TUNE—THE YORKSHIREMAN.
“By't side of a brig stands over a brook.”
From Dublin, ahoi! full of wonder and gazing,
I'm writing to you, brother Pat;
I've heard of a story so strange and amazing,
I'll talk about nothing but that:
I've heard of that queer little peaceable pimple,
That makes in the world such a row!
You might think all the doctors are crazy, or simple,
For they're all fell in love with the cow.
I'm writing to you, brother Pat;
I've heard of a story so strange and amazing,
I'll talk about nothing but that:
I've heard of that queer little peaceable pimple,
That makes in the world such a row!
You might think all the doctors are crazy, or simple,
For they're all fell in love with the cow.
John Bull, though he holds us so tight in his tether,
Determined to give us relief.—
So he sends us this pimple, and Bedford together,
—A glorious fellow for beef!—
And sure, of that Fiend who makes holes in our faces,
He swears he can rid us all now;
So the sweet little milk-maids, are sure of their graces,
And the farmer's in love with the cow.
Determined to give us relief.—
So he sends us this pimple, and Bedford together,
—A glorious fellow for beef!—
65
He swears he can rid us all now;
So the sweet little milk-maids, are sure of their graces,
And the farmer's in love with the cow.
In lectures galvanic, the world in a panic,
Beheld an ox-cheek twist about;
With frogs set a crawling, and rabbits a squalling,
And sheep's heads that turn'd up the snout.
But what is all that, by my soul, brother Pat,
To the news that I'm telling you now?
New lectures are teaching, and parsons are preaching,
Ay, the parson's in love with the cow.
Beheld an ox-cheek twist about;
With frogs set a crawling, and rabbits a squalling,
And sheep's heads that turn'd up the snout.
But what is all that, by my soul, brother Pat,
To the news that I'm telling you now?
New lectures are teaching, and parsons are preaching,
Ay, the parson's in love with the cow.
I'll tell you, moreover, how good neigh bour Bull,
The scheme has so charmingly plann'd;
That by hook or by crook, he has got in his book,
The biggest great names in the land.
Yet some write and rave, that the pimple won't save,
And they prove it, I can't tell you how:
But while time lays them flat, let's remember, dear Pat,
That the world is in love with the cow.
The scheme has so charmingly plann'd;
That by hook or by crook, he has got in his book,
The biggest great names in the land.
Yet some write and rave, that the pimple won't save,
And they prove it, I can't tell you how:
But while time lays them flat, let's remember, dear Pat,
That the world is in love with the cow.
66
Then what will we do, brother Pat, with the man
Who found out this glorious rig?
Sure, we'll gather him shamrocks as fast as we can,
And stick full every curl in his wig.
And may Unanimity, Concord, and Joy,
To the end of the world, from just now,
Distinguish Humanity's heroes, my boy!
—Long life to John Bull and his cow!
Who found out this glorious rig?
Sure, we'll gather him shamrocks as fast as we can,
And stick full every curl in his wig.
And may Unanimity, Concord, and Joy,
To the end of the world, from just now,
Distinguish Humanity's heroes, my boy!
—Long life to John Bull and his cow!
67
YIELD THEE TO PLEASURE, OLD CARE.
Yield thee to pleasure, old Care;
Hope—let me rejoice in thy truth;
Leave me, pale sickness; forbear,
And steal not the rose of my youth.
Hope—let me rejoice in thy truth;
Leave me, pale sickness; forbear,
And steal not the rose of my youth.
Spring; with thy charms, prithee come,
I long for thy bright sunny hours;
Clothe the steep woods round my home;
And bid me revive with thy flowers.
I long for thy bright sunny hours;
Clothe the steep woods round my home;
And bid me revive with thy flowers.
Borne on the fresh blowing breeze,
The respite of Heaven descends.
Joy; thy white hand let me seize;
I live for my father and friends.
The respite of Heaven descends.
Joy; thy white hand let me seize;
I live for my father and friends.
68
SONG.
NORAH.
1
By the Bannow's meandering stream,By the green banks of Shannon I've stray'd;
I've bless'd the soft glance, as it came,
Of many a beautiful maid.
My heart throbb'd a moment, I own,
The transport was o'er in a day;
But where's all my fortitude flown?
By Norah 'tis melted away.
2
I ascended the mountain with glee;'Midst the flowers of the valley could rove;
All Ireland was charming to me,
Till I knew the sweet thraldom of love.
Yet what can such feelings impart,
Or what for such raptures can pay?
Love conquers the pride of my heart,
By Norah 'tis melted away.
69
SENT TO A LADY WHO WAS GOING TO A BALL.
May health brace your nerves, as I find you're for gadding,
And Care drop the end of his tether,
And stately dame Conscience give license for madding,
And toss up your heart like a feather.
And Care drop the end of his tether,
And stately dame Conscience give license for madding,
And toss up your heart like a feather.
My heart, my good lady, to mirth is no foe,
And many the joys which it feels;
My heart—why it danced thirty summers ago,
But I never could dance with my heels.
And many the joys which it feels;
My heart—why it danced thirty summers ago,
But I never could dance with my heels.
70
NEWS FROM WORTHING, IN A LETTER FROM A BEAST OF BURDEN TO HER BROTHER JACK.
Brother Jack, I am going to inform you
Of things that ne'er enter'd your head;
And I hope the narration will charm you
Wherever you're driven or led;
Of things that ne'er enter'd your head;
And I hope the narration will charm you
Wherever you're driven or led;
For it grieves me to think of your Hampers,
And the cudgel that thumps you behind;
You have none of my frolics and scampers;
—My labour's as light as the wind.
And the cudgel that thumps you behind;
You have none of my frolics and scampers;
—My labour's as light as the wind.
On a fine level, form'd by the tide,
The beach and the ocean between,
Fashion here, tells young lasses to ride
On the best walk, that ever was seen.
The beach and the ocean between,
Fashion here, tells young lasses to ride
On the best walk, that ever was seen.
71
The sands, brother Jack; that's the spot
Where the ladies exhibit their graces;
—There they push me along till I trot,
Midst a circle of giggling faces.
Where the ladies exhibit their graces;
—There they push me along till I trot,
Midst a circle of giggling faces.
Not one of the party stands idle,
For, when I move just like a snail,
One half of them pull at my bridle,
And t' other half push at my tail.
For, when I move just like a snail,
One half of them pull at my bridle,
And t' other half push at my tail.
Then up, full of frolic and glee,
One will mount, and will scold, and will strike,
And ride me knee deep in the sea,
Where I stop—just as long as I like.
One will mount, and will scold, and will strike,
And ride me knee deep in the sea,
Where I stop—just as long as I like.
For what are their tricks and manœuvres?
They may pull me, and haul me, and tease;
But I plague them as they plague their lovers,
O, I like to do just as I please!
They may pull me, and haul me, and tease;
But I plague them as they plague their lovers,
O, I like to do just as I please!
Don't envy, but hark what I tell—
You, would never do here for a prude,
Because, Jack, you know very well,
You were always inclined to be rude;
You, would never do here for a prude,
Because, Jack, you know very well,
You were always inclined to be rude;
72
And if you should set up your braying,
And give them but two or three staves,
You would stop all the children from playing,
Or frighten them into the waves!
And give them but two or three staves,
You would stop all the children from playing,
Or frighten them into the waves!
Sometimes a sick lady will ride me,
More tender and delicate still;
And employ a poor boy just to guide me,
Where I cannot go wrong if I will;
More tender and delicate still;
And employ a poor boy just to guide me,
Where I cannot go wrong if I will;
Then back through the town gently creeping,
We stop at some library door;
Where, nonsense preferring to sleeping,
She loads me with novels a score.
We stop at some library door;
Where, nonsense preferring to sleeping,
She loads me with novels a score.
And, dear Jack, by the by, I've long guest,
Though, good ladies, I've no wish to spite 'em;
That 'tis we bring these books in request,
And that some of our family write 'em.
Though, good ladies, I've no wish to spite 'em;
That 'tis we bring these books in request,
And that some of our family write 'em.
73
But who 'd go to boast about that?
No, I'll finish by telling you true,
That at Worthing we all might grow fat,
And keep the best company too.
No, I'll finish by telling you true,
That at Worthing we all might grow fat,
And keep the best company too.
So love to you, Jack, till next season;
I'll be happy as long as I can;
For an ass that complains without reason,
Becomes—just as bad as a man!
I'll be happy as long as I can;
For an ass that complains without reason,
Becomes—just as bad as a man!
Every reader will surely know what kind of novels are here alluded to; and, at the same time, truth obliges me to say, that I received personal attentions from Mrs. Spooner, of the Colonnade library, which I remember with gratitude. R. B.
74
ADDRESS TO THE BRITISH CHANNEL.
Roll, roll thy white waves, and envelop'd in foam
Pour thy tides round the echoing shore,
Thou guard of Old England; my country, my home;
And my soul shall rejoice in the roar.
Pour thy tides round the echoing shore,
Thou guard of Old England; my country, my home;
And my soul shall rejoice in the roar.
Though high-fronted valour may scowl at the foe,
And with eyes of defiance advance;
'Tis thou hast repell'd desolation and woe,
And the conquering legions of France.
And with eyes of defiance advance;
'Tis thou hast repell'd desolation and woe,
And the conquering legions of France.
'Tis good to exult in the strength of the land;
That the flower of her youth are in arms;
That her lightning is pointed, her jav'lin in hand,
And aroused the rough spirit that warms:
That the flower of her youth are in arms;
That her lightning is pointed, her jav'lin in hand,
And aroused the rough spirit that warms:
75
But never may that day of horror be known,
When these hills, and these valleys shall feel
The rush of the phalanx by phalanx o'erthrown,
And the bound of the thundering wheel.
When these hills, and these valleys shall feel
The rush of the phalanx by phalanx o'erthrown,
And the bound of the thundering wheel.
The dread chance of battle, its blood, and its roar,
Who can wish in his senses to prove?
To plant the foul fiend on Britannia's own shore,
All sacred to peace and to love?
Who can wish in his senses to prove?
To plant the foul fiend on Britannia's own shore,
All sacred to peace and to love?
Hail, glory of Albion! ye fleets, and ye hosts,
I breathe not the tones of dismay;
In valour unquestion'd still cover your coasts,
But may Heav'n keep the slaughter away!
I breathe not the tones of dismay;
In valour unquestion'd still cover your coasts,
But may Heav'n keep the slaughter away!
76
[O how can the dumb go a courting]
[_]
[A young man occasionally called upon me who was born deaf and dumb, and who had been educated at the Asylum in the Grange Road. They had taught him to make shoes, to write, and to speak a few words; and the last time he called, he announced his intended marriage in the following words:
“FIVE MONTHS I WILL GETTING SHE MARRIED.”]
O how can the dumb go a courting,
Or how can the maiden approve?
'Tis easy; while fancy is sporting;
—The eyes, speak the language of love.
Or how can the maiden approve?
'Tis easy; while fancy is sporting;
—The eyes, speak the language of love.
Poor youth! although born without hearing,
Benevolence cheers such as you,
And teaches the words most endearing—
“God bless you,” and “How do you do?”
Benevolence cheers such as you,
And teaches the words most endearing—
“God bless you,” and “How do you do?”
77
From these, and the use of your pen;
Though in grammar you 're not over nice;
Love, can make out your where and your when,
And supply all defects in a trice.
Though in grammar you 're not over nice;
Love, can make out your where and your when,
And supply all defects in a trice.
And though you hear not the soft sigh
Of delight, when you press on her cheek;
That loss other joys shall supply;
E'en the turn of a finger can speak.
Of delight, when you press on her cheek;
That loss other joys shall supply;
E'en the turn of a finger can speak.
We all deal in nodding and winking,
And talk through a smile or a frown;
But you, on whatever you're thinking,
Have a strange set of nods of your own.
And talk through a smile or a frown;
But you, on whatever you're thinking,
Have a strange set of nods of your own.
This credit of nodding we grant you;
—But all former specimens prove
That nothing could ever enchant you,
Or light up your features like love.
—But all former specimens prove
That nothing could ever enchant you,
Or light up your features like love.
For who shall describe the wild glee
That dwelt on your brow while you tarried,
O'er that pen, which recorded so free,
“Five months I will getting she married.”
That dwelt on your brow while you tarried,
O'er that pen, which recorded so free,
“Five months I will getting she married.”
78
Perhaps she will study your face,
And read all your meanings with ease,
And prove that affection's pure grace,
In despite of all language can please.
And read all your meanings with ease,
And prove that affection's pure grace,
In despite of all language can please.
The balance is much on your side—
Should she scold, why who better can bear it?
You may see a child's mouth open wide
When it cries,—but you never can hear it.
Should she scold, why who better can bear it?
You may see a child's mouth open wide
When it cries,—but you never can hear it.
If your heart bounds with pleasure, or bleeds;
Should fortune prove friendly or shy;
No oaths, in your book of misdeeds,
Will stare in your face when you die.
Should fortune prove friendly or shy;
No oaths, in your book of misdeeds,
Will stare in your face when you die.
You're right thus to marry, methinks,
While young; though the wise ones have tarried;
For me, I'll remember your winks,
And, “Five months I will getting she married.”
While young; though the wise ones have tarried;
For me, I'll remember your winks,
And, “Five months I will getting she married.”
79
A NEIGHBOURLY RESOLUTION.
With scythe, fresh sharpen'd, by his side,
To bring the ripen'd barley down,
One morning, when the dew was dried,
Thus musing with himself, John Brown
Stood, where of late
His little gate
Was cover'd by an elm's broad shade:—
Ah! there thou liest, wide sheltering tree,
Beneath whose boughs, in youthful glee,
My first love-vow was made.
To bring the ripen'd barley down,
One morning, when the dew was dried,
Thus musing with himself, John Brown
Stood, where of late
His little gate
Was cover'd by an elm's broad shade:—
Ah! there thou liest, wide sheltering tree,
Beneath whose boughs, in youthful glee,
My first love-vow was made.
Thou hast survived my wife, 'tis true,
Thy leaves have sigh'd to me, alone;
Have sigh'd in autumn's yellow hue—
I've felt thy lessons, every one.
Of thee bereft,
There may be left,
(Though 'twas no friend that cut thee down)
There may be left in store, I say,
Some joys—for Goody Gascoin may
Be kind to neighbour Brown.
Thy leaves have sigh'd to me, alone;
Have sigh'd in autumn's yellow hue—
I've felt thy lessons, every one.
Of thee bereft,
There may be left,
(Though 'twas no friend that cut thee down)
There may be left in store, I say,
Some joys—for Goody Gascoin may
Be kind to neighbour Brown.
80
I've lived alone, she's done the same,
Through summer's heat and winter's cold;
I trust we still might feel love's flame,
Though girls and boys may call us old:
O could we be
Embower'd by thee!
Vain wish! my poor old elm is down:—
May shadeless labour and sour ale,
Far from this stream, and this sweet vale,
Plague him that robb'd John Brown.
Through summer's heat and winter's cold;
I trust we still might feel love's flame,
Though girls and boys may call us old:
O could we be
Embower'd by thee!
Vain wish! my poor old elm is down:—
May shadeless labour and sour ale,
Far from this stream, and this sweet vale,
Plague him that robb'd John Brown.
But though, 'midst clust'ring leaves, no more
The robin gives his morning trill;
Winter may bring him to my door,
And Goody Gascoin,—if she will.
I'll know her mind;
If so inclined,
'Tis death alone shall make us part:
And though his cot's sweet shade is down,
This charm she'll find in neighbour Brown,
Gay cheerfulness of heart.
The robin gives his morning trill;
Winter may bring him to my door,
And Goody Gascoin,—if she will.
I'll know her mind;
If so inclined,
'Tis death alone shall make us part:
And though his cot's sweet shade is down,
This charm she'll find in neighbour Brown,
Gay cheerfulness of heart.
81
A FIRST VIEW OF THE SEA.
Are these the famed, the brave South Downs,
That like a chain of pearls appear?
Their pale green sides and graceful crowns;
To freedom, thought, and peace, how dear!
—To freedom, for no fence is seen;
To thought, for silence soothes the way;
To peace, for o'er the boundless green
Unnumber'd flocks and shepherds stray.
That like a chain of pearls appear?
Their pale green sides and graceful crowns;
To freedom, thought, and peace, how dear!
—To freedom, for no fence is seen;
To thought, for silence soothes the way;
To peace, for o'er the boundless green
Unnumber'd flocks and shepherds stray.
Now, now we've gain'd the utmost height!
Where shall we match the vale below?
The Weald of Sussex, glorious sight
Old Chankbury, from thy tufted brow!
Oaks, British oaks, form all its shade,
Dark as a forest's ample crown;
Yet by rich herds how cheerful made,
And countless spots of harvest brown.
Where shall we match the vale below?
The Weald of Sussex, glorious sight
Old Chankbury, from thy tufted brow!
Oaks, British oaks, form all its shade,
Dark as a forest's ample crown;
Yet by rich herds how cheerful made,
And countless spots of harvest brown.
82
But what's yon southward, dark, blue, line
Along the horizon's utmost bound;
On which the weary clouds recline,
Still varying half the circle round?
The sea! the sea! my God! the sea!
Yon sun-beams on its bosom play!
With milk-white sails expanded free,
There ploughs the bark her cheerful way!
Along the horizon's utmost bound;
On which the weary clouds recline,
Still varying half the circle round?
The sea! the sea! my God! the sea!
Yon sun-beams on its bosom play!
With milk-white sails expanded free,
There ploughs the bark her cheerful way!
I come, I come, my heart beats high;
The green sward stretches southward still;
Soft in the breeze the heath-bells sigh;
Up, up we scale another hill.
A spot where once the eagle tower'd
O'er Albion's green primæval charms;
And where the harmless wild-thyme flower'd
Did Rome's proud legions pile their arms.
The green sward stretches southward still;
Soft in the breeze the heath-bells sigh;
Up, up we scale another hill.
A spot where once the eagle tower'd
O'er Albion's green primæval charms;
And where the harmless wild-thyme flower'd
Did Rome's proud legions pile their arms.
And here old Sissa, so they tell,
The Saxon monarch, closed his days:
I judge they play'd their parts right well,
But cannot stop to sing their praise.
For yonder, near the ocean's brim,
I see; I taste the coming joy;
There Mary binds the wither'd limb;
The mother tends the poor lame boy.
The Saxon monarch, closed his days:
I judge they play'd their parts right well,
But cannot stop to sing their praise.
For yonder, near the ocean's brim,
I see; I taste the coming joy;
There Mary binds the wither'd limb;
The mother tends the poor lame boy.
83
My heart is there—sleep, Romans, sleep;
And what are Saxon kings to me?
Let me, O thou majestic deep!
Let me descend to love and thee:
And may thy calm, fair-flowing tides,
Bring peace and hope, and bid them live,
And night, whilst wandering by thy side,
Teach wisdom—teach me to forgive.
And what are Saxon kings to me?
Let me, O thou majestic deep!
Let me descend to love and thee:
And may thy calm, fair-flowing tides,
Bring peace and hope, and bid them live,
And night, whilst wandering by thy side,
Teach wisdom—teach me to forgive.
Then, when my heart is whole again,
And Fancy's renovated wing
Sweeps o'er the terrors of thy reign;
Strong on my soul those terrors bring.
In infant haunts I've dream'd of thee;
And where the crystal brook ran by,
Mark'd sands, and waves, and open sea,
And gazed—but with an infant's eye.
And Fancy's renovated wing
Sweeps o'er the terrors of thy reign;
Strong on my soul those terrors bring.
In infant haunts I've dream'd of thee;
And where the crystal brook ran by,
Mark'd sands, and waves, and open sea,
And gazed—but with an infant's eye.
'Twas joy to pass the stormy hour
In groves, when childhood knew no more;
Increase that joy, tremendous Power,
Loud let thy world of waters roar!
And if the scene reflection drowns,
Or draws too often rapture's tear,
I'll stroll me o'er these lovely downs,
And press the turf, and worship here.
In groves, when childhood knew no more;
Increase that joy, tremendous Power,
Loud let thy world of waters roar!
And if the scene reflection drowns,
Or draws too often rapture's tear,
I'll stroll me o'er these lovely downs,
And press the turf, and worship here.
84
ON THE DEATH OF HIS INFANT SON ROBERT.
Farewell! my sweet, my budding flower,My rosy cherub-boy, farewell!
My tortures at thy dying hour,
Thy guardian-angels best can tell!
O, blessings on thee, spotless spirit!
Thy smile was almost heaven to me!
Though still life's troubles I inherit,
Like David, I shall go to thee!
126
SONNET.
“Music of nature! emblem of each sphere!How sweetly tranquil does my pensive soul,
At dewy eve, thy warbling murmurs hear,
When sooth'd to tenderness thy measures roll;
Sometimes more loud, and now yet louder still,
Sometimes more distant, and again more near,
Waking soft echoes, and, with magic skill,
Swelling the eye with a luxurious tear.
Delightful flutterings! hovering toward the sky,
Ten thousand Sylphs, on lightest pinions borne,
To realms ethereal on your murmurs fly,
And waked to melancholy feelings, mourn,
Nature's best music! since thy simple strain
Lulls to repose each transitory pain.”
| The remains of Robert Bloomfield (1824) | |